I Have Burned the Mask
by Thranduilas
Summary: AU. Severus seeks closure. Hermione offers healing. Oneshot songfic inspired by "The Charlatan's Lament" by the Waterboys: /waterboys-lyrics.php


Turning his back on the dying fire, he stared out at the dark lake; so still that its surface mirrored the tiny stars. Though the wind was calm, the stench of burning cloth and leather eddied around him.

He looked down at his hands: they were immaculately clean. His gaze traveled up his arms, locking on a spot two inches below the left elbow where a shiny keloid scar lay beneath his sleeve. To another's eye it was just an old burn. But he, who had exulted in its creation, who stared at it with dull hatred in long hours of self-loathing, who finally screamed out in pain when it was taken from him, still saw its original form, livid and red, snarling at him.

This was something he had needed to do alone, though he knew his abrupt departure from the celebration had not gone unnoticed. The left corner of his mouth twitched at the memory of Minerva's face as he'd brushed past the Minister of Magic. He didn't give a damn about any Order of Merlin, First Class or Last. He'd had enough of symbols, of insignia, of Marks.

As he had negotiated the crowds of soused, shouting revellers, he'd felt no eyes upon him. He was once again anonymous, plain. And to think he'd once wanted to be so important, so powerful. He slipped into an empty doorway and Disapparated.

At the school's gates, he had peered up at the castle from the shelter of his hood. A few lights burned here and there, but the small barred windows of the dungeons were blank and dark. Entering swiftly, he had gone to his quarters and found what he sought.

Even touching the black cloak and the mask of molded leather had made him feel sick. He wondered if it had been the presence of the Mark and the allegiance it had once tokened, that had made it bearable. Perhaps it was just exhaustion that made it so hard tonight.

He knew how frightening he'd looked in these loathsome garments once. He'd seen the tears and heard the screams as he and his brothers and sisters approached; destruction in their hands. He'd loved feeling powerful, though the pleasure had been both brittle and bitter. The tears rose suddenly; he closed his eyes against them and swallowed hard.

A quarter of an hour's walk had brought him with his burden to a place along the rocky lakeshore where there were no trees. He had made a pile of cloak and mask, stepped back, and ignited the clothes with a flick of his wand. He had watched the fire slowly eating them, and was not comforted.

Looking up at the sky, he breathed deeply. A tiny puff of wind stirred the black hair that framed his face. He noticed clouds hurrying high against the stars. It would be stormy before dawn.

His eyes closed, then opened again, startled. He heard stealthy, light steps, the muffled clink of glass. Someone with bottles, in a bag or basket judging by the sound, in the trees beyond the fire.

He wouldn't be provoked into turning around. The intruder could come up and show himself, like a civilised being – as, indeed, he now seemed to be doing. The steps approached slowly; from the sound, the person was keeping his distance. The sounds of movement stopped, and he judged his interloper to be standing off to his left, a few feet away.

"Professor?" It was almost a whisper, though spoken without apparent fear.

He turned his head slowly to the left and she was there, seated on a rock. He'd not noticed her during his very brief time at the celebration; perhaps she had remained behind at Hogwarts. Probably couldn't pass up the chance to have its fabled library all to herself.

No, that wasn't it. Now that he thought about it, he'd not seen her for days, not since…yes. St. Mungo's had been unable to accommodate all those in need, so many of the injured were quartered at Hogwarts. Hermione, cured of her own slight hurts in the hours following their victory, had been assisting the Healers.

She looked very tired. Her cloak was drawn close around her, over what looked like plain work robes. The hood had slipped half off her curly hair. Her eyes caught the red light of the embers and glowed like an owl's.

They looked at each other for a few long moments. Then she bent to the basket at her feet, lifting it into her lap. "I saw you come in earlier."

"Mmm."

"I brought you some things I thought you'd want," she said, her voice more businesslike. "Just a few potions. Minerva Flooed me and said you'd left the party suddenly. I thought it might be that you weren't…well." Her teeth caught at her lower lip for an instant.

His eyes narrowed. "That was…" Would he? No. "…very kind of you, Miss Granger." He sighed, and turned fully to face her. He saw her eyes skip back to him from the fire. He snorted softly, walked over to the smouldering pile and spat into the cinders. Looking up at her without raising his head, he raised his eyebrows. "You aren't going to ask?"

"No," she replied, meeting his gaze. "I know."

"Mmm," he said again. He waved his wand at the ashes. They gathered themselves together, rolled towards the water and over its surface. The ash cloud caught the rising wind and tumbled faster. A hundred yards from shore, it vanished into the depths.

Silence fell but for the tiny sounds of the lake murmuring to itself. She stirred and spoke again.

"I didn't intend to disturb you, um, Severus." Her difficulty in using his name amused him even now, though he had the same trouble with hers, comrade-in-arms or not. "It's…it'll sound stupid, but when I was coming along the shore towards the fire, and I saw you just looking out at the lake…I wondered…I'm supposed to watch everyone for signs of—"

"Suicidal ideation?" he intoned in his best schoolroom voice, then snorted again. "No. I daresay you of all people must know that if I wanted to 'end it all,'" he said sarcastically, "I've many other means at my disposal."

Her head dipped for a moment, then rose again. "Yes, I know. Like I said, it sounds stupid. I'm sorry." She shook the basket slightly, rattling the contents. "I'll just leave these here then. Maybe you can take them with you when you go up to the castle, or wherever." Woman though she was, she still blushed like a child when she believed she was wrong. Even in the darkness, he fancied he could see her cheeks burn red.

He smiled slightly in spite of himself. "No, no. It's…your concern is…that is, thank you. I am finished here." He looked again at the lake. Yes, finished.

She stood, the basket clinking again behind her. Lighting his wand, he began to retrace his path up the shore, and she followed close behind him. He wondered how long he had been out here; he felt stiff and was still sore from the fighting. It was as though he had been carrying an actual weight for years, and his body was not yet accustomed to its absence. But he felt neither light nor free. Worst of all, he was thinking in clichés. Before he could smirk at himself, he stumbled to his knees. Everything vanished in a wave of anguish, and he could do nothing but fall before it.

Quick footsteps at his side, warm hands on his arm.

"Professor?" She shook him slightly, the basket on her arm bumping softly against his side. "Severus?"

He looked up into her face, the springy hair floating in wisps framing her pale face, her eyes full of concern. He sank down, and she followed him, kneeling at his side, one arm around his shoulders, her other hand feeling for his radial pulse. His eyes shut hard against his tears and let his head fall forward, humiliated. Her hand came up and pushed his hood and long hair back from his face, then raised his chin gently.

Her fingers were soft and warm as she brushed an errant tear from his thin cheek. No sooner had she wiped it away than another followed, and another. He saw her lips press tightly together and felt her hand cup his cheek as she bent forward and leaned her forehead against his. He closed his eyes, just as she drew away. Blinking hard, he saw her reaching down to retrieve his dropped wand, and by its light, he saw tears on her eyelashes and her cheeks. She straightened and turned back to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders again.

"Can you stand?" she asked softly. "If you can't, I can get you back to the castle." She felt his wrist again. "Your pulse is high, but I don't think you're in any serious danger."

He couldn't speak. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to feel her eyes on him, this one who had always believed in him, despite the death of Dumbledore and all the little needling cruelties his position had required of him. He wanted to do something about the hurt he knew he'd caused her, but there was no fire that could purge memories.

"Your teeth are lovely," he mumbled idiotically. He winced.

She stared, then gave a gasp of shocked laughter. Her mouth opened to speak, but she seemed to change her mind and closed it again. Her eyes looked into his; alight with an amused tenderness that reminded him sharply of Dumbledore. She smiled slightly, and then she did speak.

"Thank you," was all she said.

He shut his eyes and felt her squeeze his shoulders, then get to her feet. His eyes opened to see her dark sleeves poking through the arm slits of her cloak, and her small hands held out to him.

"Come on, grab hold," she said, businesslike once more. He groaned as he shifted back to his knees, and reached up and grabbed for her hands. She attempted to grasp his wrists, but her grip slid and he seized her fingers. He felt her tense and she took a half step backwards. For an instant, he thought he'd frightened her, but when she tugged him upwards, he understood. His legs unfolded achingly, but he found he could stand.

Her voice had a smiling sound. "All right?"

He gave a jerky nod, breathing hard. She released his left hand, put his wand into it, and picked up her basket. Her left arm slipped around his waist, and he let his right circle her shoulders. They stood still a moment. Looking down, he found her watching him.

"Well then, shall we?" she asked. He nodded again, and they set off slowly.

"You shouldn't have walked all this way alone, Professor. I won't even ask when you last slept. Poppy said you hadn't come to her, and we knew you weren't at St. Mungo's. You've not been in your rooms lately, either, from what the house elves say," she told him as they walked.

"I trust you'll understand if I don't care to be bundled up in a ward somewhere," he said stiffly. His mortification over his earlier outburst made him brusque.

She only laughed. "But of course. I didn't mean to lecture you." She paused. "However…I wondered if you'd allow me to…" she trailed off. They took a few more steps in silence.

"I'm concerned for you," she continued. "Perhaps I could look in on you, to make sure you're okay? Even for just tonight?"

Silence again. He thought about her fingers on his cheek, the tears that had sprung to her eyes in response to his own. It would not be unpleasant to be under her care, especially in the quiet of the dungeons. He couldn't bear the thought of being clucked over by Poppy Pomfrey and whoever she'd got up there from St. Mungo's.

"Yes," he said. "I think that would be wise. I'm still not feeling quite well after…that, back there."

He felt the slight shake of her shoulders as she nodded.

"Also I think I can trust you not to make any silly mistakes with the potions," he said. "I daresay you've not forgotten anything from the last time you raided my stores," he couldn't help adding, looking sidewise at her.

She grinned, her perfect teeth a dim white flash in the wandlight.

They reached the massive front doors of the castle. Hermione released her hold on Severus and pulled one door open. She turned back and regarded him appraisingly, her eyes gleaming through her wind-frizzed hair. Clutching the great stone arch with one hand, he raised a finger and slowly brushed the tangled curls to one side, tucking them behind her ear.

She blinked, and offered him a tiny smile. She gently took his arm and helped him over the threshold. The door swung closed behind them.


End file.
